


letters to the living

by tovarich (orphan_account)



Series: paint the commonwealth red [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Epistolary, Female Friendship, Gen, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life, Women in the Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7904245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tovarich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>My head, it appears, is empty since I have set foot on American soil. Everything the government warned us of was true! Help!</i>
</p><p> </p><p>or, Halyna Maksymyivna adjusts to her new life, wages war on lawn culture, and writes letters to an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	letters to the living

**Author's Note:**

> i had written 3/4 of this and then left it on my computer and a comment made me finish it
> 
> is there more incoming? probably. i hate you all.

My dearest, darling Nata,

Perhaps I should be calling you Natalia Vassilievna Egorova! I remember comrade Lieutenant Egorov well, and even more so I remember how you pined over him! And you were right to do so, as a man who sacrifices his coat to offer extra cover for a sniper is a decent one, as far as I’m concerned. I still remember those hours and days spent motionless in the snow, losing feeling in everything but the fingertips that clutched the trigger! He has my blessing.

Speaking of the war so commonly does nothing but remind me of what I’ve lost, my dear, and every letter I get just reinforces this melancholy feeling. It feels pathetic in a way -- I have two hundred confirmed kills, and yet here I am crying over a letter home when I never so much cried for anyone I shot down. Perhaps this proves that I have made a wrong decision, but I would rather not come to such a drastic conclusion so early on. 

Things are very different here, for sure. Nate and I have been placed in a community area called Sanctuary Hills, but what they call community area, I call mansion! For me, for you, for any Soviet girl, I reckon, the word community area calls to mind those apartments for rent, you know the ones. Instead we have a house, and a garden, and many neighbours who have the same. There is a gate around the community, and everyone who lives there has done something for ‘the service of their country’. Apparently, my service was marrying a soldier, nevermind that I outrank him! Mind, it is more than my neighbours have done. I will not say any ill of them yet, for you know how I hate to speak ill of any woman. I’m sure their qualities will reveal themselves to me eventually.

Your letter broke my heart, my Nata. I live in a land of excess that tries its best to hide the poverty. Ration tickets are ration tickets all over the world, and yet other things are abundant. That is why I have sent you a set of sheets -- Nate’s family says that it is an old set that had been shoved in the back of some forgotten closet. They can afford to do so, and it blows my mind! No newlyweds deserve to share a marriage bed with only a blanket on it, sleeping on the bare mattress itself. I do hope that you’ll accept the gift, from both one soldier to another and one woman to another. Since I could not attend your wedding, please accept this gift from me to you.

How strange it is, to think that you are a wife now. I am 23, and you are 25, and you are a wife, and I am soon to be one, albeit on separate sides of the planet. (I dearly hope I have not made a mistake!!!)

But enough of my sadness! I want to know all about the wedding, if you wore your mother’s dress or a new one or your uniform, how long it lasted. Did any of our other girls attend? Did you elope? I am so far away from all the gossip, you must keep me in the loop. 

My heart goes out to you, and I wish you so, so much happiness. You deserve it, my darling Nata. Congratulations again -- I actually don’t think I said it at all, so just congratulations! My head, it appears, is empty since I have set foot on American soil. Everything the government warned us of was true! Help!

Yours, sending you all my love from across the globe,

Halyna.

  
. . .  


My dearest, darling Nata,

I do hope you are faring better than I, for I cannot stand this civilian lifestyle. I find myself waking at 0500 hours every day, even on those where I do not sleep until 0300. I still walk like a soldier, as my vicious neighbours have not hesitated to point out (and oh, Nata, do I have stories to tell about them further down). I even dress like one, because I have come to realize that the feeling of a skirt around my legs is one that is positively unbearable. It feels too exposed, too flighty and dangerous, like I might need to get down and crawl to a sniper roost any minute and the fabric will only get in my way. Do you know that the first time I put on a pair of high-heeled shoes since returning from the war, I burst into tears?! I have been ruined by these years of combat, and since coming of age in a battlezone I feel like I have forgotten how to be a proper girl.

Nate has been wonderful about it, really, which is one of my only comforts here. He gave me a pair of his sister’s trousers to wear, and I ended up entirely undoing one of my skirts from home to work it into a pair of trousers. Perhaps this is me being a coward: indeed, I feel like I should just suck it up and get used to wearing skirts again, but I’m not ready. Not yet. Now, the Boston winter is nothing like my winters in Ukraine or yours in Leningrad, my friend, but they give me an excuse to wear my big soldier’s coat, and the familiarity of it is more warm than the actual fabric! I changed the buttons on it, of course, just to at least pretend I’m being proper. But here I am with my soldier’s coat and my fake leather soldier’s boots and my reworked trousers, and it feels as if I am clinging to the war even when I am home. I am not nearly as brave as I like to pretend I am, my dearest! You are far more courageous than I, of that I have no doubt!

Reading of your wedding was delightful, and it brought me such joy that I feel almost as if I were there with you the whole time! And I am even more delighted that you accepted the sheet. May it remain in your family for a long time, as a reminder of our camaraderie and of my love for you. When I read of your toast to Ninka Filipovna, Nate joined me in a toast of our own, which I hope she appreciates, wherever she is. I miss all of you like a limb, all of my girls who I fought with, but where I can get letters and packages from you, my Nata, Ninka has gone where we cannot follow. Not yet.

It’s strange, you know. I always thought that the four of us sniper girls would live forever. You, me, Ninka, Daryna. Spending so many years watching each others’ backs. Our little teams of two, seemingly taking on the world and winning. Oh, how I miss her. Oh, how I miss you all! Please forgive the tear stains on the page. I’m an embarrassment, truly. She fell in a sniper’s duel. She fell bravely, in a soldier’s death, and she had the most kills out of all of us. I can never be prouder than I am of her, I think. I do hope that if Nate and I have children that there will be at least a girl, so that I can name her Nina -- unless you beat me in this race, in which case I will let you have first pick!

I have yet to find a single good quality belonging to my neighbours. The men are all soldiers or scientists and dismiss me outright -- I outrank a fair number of them, and have a higher kill-count than most! -- while the wives are nearly all housewives, and they are rude. “Hallie, honey,” says Mrs Alicia Robinson, because none of them can pronounce Halyna properly, “We didn’t see you in church on Sunday. It’s a shame, I’m sure you have lots to confess, with the, well, the things you’ve seen and done!”. Oh, how I miss my rifle, Nata. You have no idea. 

Tomorrow I am going for a job interview at the Soviet consulate in Boston, so at least I will be with people who speak the proper language. Even Nate, for all his efforts, can’t quite get Maksymyivna down. 

I miss you like a limb, like a sister, like my heart itself. Do give my regards to your husband! Let him know how much I miss the presence of a proper Soviet soldier. And that applies to you, too, darling, always.

Yours,

Halyna.

  
. . .  


My dearest, darling Nata,

You are reading a letter from a brand new legal secretary for the Soviet Consulate in Boston! Oh, I am so proud of myself, even if this is never the future I imagined. My mother would be as proud as she would be furious, I think – proud that I got a job with the Soviet government, furious that it’s in America! – but then, she always wanted me to be a ballerina.

I always wanted to be a ballerina, too, mind. And then all I wanted to be was a soldier; and you know the rest. After all, the story is just as much yours as it is mine. We young girls who went to war too young and payed the price. Although, here we both are with jobs and with handsome young men at our sides, so surely we went right somewhere.

But where was I? Ah, yes – I am working as a secretary to the lawyers for the consulate. My overseer – a certain comrade Dimitri Ivanovich – has even told me that the consulate will pay for me to receive a university degree in law, if I will then use that degree to work within the consulate. And to think I never thought I’d be more than a dance instructor. Most importantly, though, I love this opportunity to hear the languages of home. One of my colleagues, Valentina, is also Ukrainian, although in the workplace we’re expected to speak Russian, which is not unexpected. But It is good to hear Halyna and Halynka and especially Halyna Maskymyivna pronounced properly. 

Nata, Natasha, Natashenka of my heart, I am so overjoyed for your promotion at the hospital. Your medical studies saved our rears more than once, during the fighting, and if anyone deserved a chance to put that expertise to good use, it’s you. More importantly, I’m glad that you’ll have a rise in income towards your household that way! If you and Misha decide to have children soon, I’ll be happy knowing that your children will have a stable household. Or as stable as a household can be, in our days. $33 for a cup of coffee, Nata!!! The world has gone mad. I’m almost driven to pray, except that I really don’t need another reason to anger my mother. I fear that she will come and chase me down from across the world to give me a good smack. Perhaps I need it. I’ve finally started wearing heeled shoes again – I couldn’t let you and Daryna rub it in my face for so long, after all. The trousers will stay until winter has passed, though. I can only do so much, after all. Speaking of Daryna – give her my thanks, next time you telephone her; I need to write her soon, but I keep putting it off. But she was the one who taught me how to pencil my brows and lips, and I fear that without that skill these American housewives would have eaten me alive weeks ago.

Nate’s family keeps on pressing us to know when the wedding will be. As if I knew these things! I promised him that I would come with him, and I gave up my life back home for the man, and in my mind it is enough. But no, they want a big ceremony with all their strange customs. I can’t make sense of it. But it will happen soon enough, if things continue as they are. I’m sure you know what I mean!! 

My most favoured of companions, I miss joking with you and the girls. Perhaps that is why I am so excited for this job: more than feeling useful, it will be good to make friends again.

Yours,

Halyna.

P.S. Nate has started a vegetable garden in the front lawn. The neighbours are scandalized. Ha! So obsessive about their precious immaculate lawns. To this I have two things to say: the first is, embrace organized chaos. The second is, if only I could send you a picture of Nate’s ass. You would thank me.

  
…  


My dearest, darling Nata,

Thank you for the photographs! You and Daryna both look lovely, and I’m glad you got to meet up with Zhenya and Katya and Anya again! I’m terribly jealous of your little ex-soldier meetings. Speak of me while you’re there, please, and tell the best stories about me. Not the ones about the portyanki, you wicked girl, I know exactly where your mind went, and I’m having none of it. Remember me as an angel, do you hear me?

I’ve included a few photographs of my own, as thanks. The first is, as promised, my darling man in his garden. I’ll shoulder the blame if Misha takes offense! Although if I’m remembering those few times we went on permission together, I feel like he will take quite the opposite, and will approve of our war against lawn culture besides. The second is a dress that Nate’s mother – and do you know that she started crying when I called her mama? I told Nate that it is only because I cannot pronounce Aoife, and he had to go outside to laugh – has so generously gifted me to wear for our wedding.

I can hear your laughter from Boston, Nata. I know. The dress is absolutely hideous. I asked her if I would be allowed to make a few modifications, and she agreed, so I’ve turned our sitting room into a workshop. I’ve got the neighbours peeking their heads in and making comments about how quaint and homey I am not to go to the bridal salon, but I don’t care. Something must be done.

These housewives, Nata. I’m reminded of my old trainer, back when I was recruited – Darnya will have more stories of her than I’ve already told you – and one of her fetish sayings. “You must learn to take hold of the flame of hatred, girls. Nurture it and feed it, that you might never falter in the field, and never forget what you stand for.” Of course, she meant our hate of the Chinese, but in my case that flame burns ever bright towards Mrs Alicia Robinson.

I did tell you once upon a time that I did not like speaking ill of women. This remains true. However, she is not a woman, but a demon. I swear it. Call for an exorcist – a proper, Orthodox one, if you will. Nate’s family is entirely Catholic. I know. I know.

But yes; dresses are being altered – god, that neckline! Pray for me sister, if you have the strength, because I will need it – and flowers chosen and soon I shall be wed! Mrs Hallie Walsh. The least pleasant part of this whole American adventure is the name. I do wish you could be there, my friend, but I have my friends from the consulate who will be there, and there’s always Nate’s soldier friends. Would it be insulting to invite Francis and not Alicia? I’ll have to see. (Speaking of Nate’s friends – they all call you Tasha, you know. I like to comment on it and make them blush; “Such familiarity! Something I should know about?”. They don’t know anything about how names work, so I work it against them. Who said that you couldn’t have fun in America?)

I have made a bet with my soon-to-be husband, regarding our children. I have seven aunties and two sisters, and Nate himself has a sister of his own. I am convinced that any children will be girls, but he is feeling a boy. So, if it is a girl, I get to name her: Nina if I have her before you have yours (unlikely), or Natasha if you beat me there. Do not argue with me on this! I will win. And if Nate is right, and it is a boy, we have to name him after his grandfather. Have you ever heard such a name as Shaun? I can’t stand it. I told him that even if we name him Shaun, I shall call him something else. Sasha, perhaps – Shaun Alexander Walsh. 

All this talk of babies. Luckily, I have some time yet before decisions regarding them become pertinent – or do I?

Yours, 

Halyna.

  
. . .  


My dearest, darling Nata,

I suppose I am now comrade sergeant Halyna Maksymyivna Walsh! It was strange, and happy, and sad – I am quite isolated here, and I am grateful for my friends and coworkers who came to the ceremony, or else I would have done nothing but cry, I suspect. My family was very clearly absent, and I do believe my father would burn any note I sent to tell him. I wish you could have been there, and Daryna, and Zhenya and Anya and Katya, and more than anything I wish Ninka could have been there.

But I shall stop boring you with my tears – I never change, do I? I swear, I didn’t cry once during the war – and tell you of the happy parts, instead. You’ll see on the photographs that the dress came out fine, after all my worrying and cutting and stitching. Doing away with the entire neck and putting it off the shoulder was the best choice I could have made. With the pretty headband to go with the veil, I felt almost like a long lost Romanova sister! (Can you imagine me a duchess? It pains me to even make the comparison, but you have to admit that despite being noble garbage who supported the bourgeoisie, those girls did have style.) Nate still does not know how to dance, and he hadn’t slept a wink the night before – I’d like to say it was nerves, but I have enough dreams of the fighting to not be so selfish as to think it as just thoughts of me keeping him up – so he was even worse than what you remember. How lucky of you, that Misha is such a good partner. Instead I’m stuck with this clumsy lunk forever, now. At least he’s pretty, hm?

Oh, but don’t let me fool you. I am happy. Overjoyed. Just, feeling very odd. I suppose it is finally sinking in that I will likely never see any of you again. Perhaps with work I will be able to go to Moscow someday. If I do, I promise I will take time to come find you. You have my word as a soldier, as a sister and as a wife.

I am a wife now! We are both wives!!!! What are we thinking????

(I am thinking of you, my dear, and how happy I am for you and Misha. I suppose I will have to let go of little Nina then! Natasha it is. I still refuse to believe mine will be a Shaun.)

Yours, 

Halyna.

P.S. My wedding gown was the first dress I wore since coming back from the fighting. Honestly, what would our old commanding officer say of me? I’m ashamed.

  
. . .  


My dearest, darling Nata,

When I said that my father wouldn’t answer my letters, it was not an invitation for you to phone him!!! Oh, but I believe you when you said you had to yell, and I cannot put into words how much it means to me. I told Nate, and I think he’s a little in love with you, now. (To which I told him, fuck off. You’re mine, sister; he has his own army friends to daydream about.)

(Goodness, isn’t that an image. You remember what Gary’s arms were like, don’t you? I need a moment.)

But! Back to the point! We are ever enamoured with you for your little endeavour. Thank you for trying, Nata, truly. Speaking of enamour…ation?? Speaking of love! I’d spent the entire letter insulting you for promising to name your next daughter Halyna, but then, you’d have to do the same for Natasha, and we both know how we get when we argue, and I’m not sure the world would survive it. But I am so happy for you and Misha, happy beyond words, so happy that you and little Nina came out of it okay. I love her dearly, despite having never seen her. Tell her that, as she grows. Tell her that she has an auntie in America who loves her dearly.

If there is one thing to come out of this pregnancy (besides, well, the obvious) it’s that I am now allowed to cry without judgement. And you read that right!!!! Forgive me for not starting the letter with it, I wanted to lull you into a sense of security before springing it on you. Did I succeed? I do hope I did. Making you jump is a pastime I can no longer indulge in. I’ll take what thrills that I can.

I’m still at work, as my mother kept working up until the day she gave birth, and started working again the second the afterbirth finished, and I very much plan on doing the same. What soviet woman would do less? At work I am still Halyna Maksymyivna – well, Dimitri Ivanovich and my coworkers call me Halynka, but that is normal – so at least I am spared this Mrs Walsh business. (I should have married Gary, at least he is a Kowolski. I could live with being a Mrs Kowolski.) Speaking of my neighbours, do you know how much they gossip about the most innane things?? I ride my bicycle to work in Boston, as it’s not too far away and I can hardly justify taking the car to the city for only myself, and all they do is whisper about it behind their hands. I’d like to remind them that there is a worldwide petrol shortage! And that their cars consume far too much energy than ought to be dedicated to going to the department store! Argh! They frustrate me so!!!

I feel like I will just become angrier and more Ukrainian the further along I get with my pregnancy. It’s a good thing Nate already knew me during the war, I say. I told him this, and his reaction was to buy me a red headscarf and tell me to ‘flaunt it’. Tomorrow I’m going to wear it with my coveralls and soldier boots when I go to tend the vegetable garden. Will keep you posted on how many of my neighbours faint!!

(They want me to stop drinking for the pregnancy. I told them that each time they told me so, I would take another shot of vodka out of spite. I feel like I’m truly starting to find a place here in this wonderful community, Nata.)

I hope your Nina likes the toy I’ve sent her. And I hope you approve of my abusing my consulate contacts to send you things faster! Does this make me a proper communist now?

Yours, 

Halyna.

  
. . .  


My dearest, darling Nata,

I am distraught! I write you from the hospital room, with Nate asleep in the chair beside me – as if he had been doing all the work!! Men are such babies – and Shaun Alexander in my free arm. Shaun!!! Not Natasha!!!!!! He is ugly, as all newborns are, and he has not yet opened his gummy little eyes to look upon his mama, and I love him as much as I resent him. I suppose it is my fault, for not wanting to know the gender beforehand, but I was so convinced I was right! Time will tell, I suppose, but for now I have a son named Shaun, and I will have to get used to it, I suppose.

It was not so bad, the pain. The doctors were amazed at how I merely clenched my teeth and did not scream, to which I replied – have you ever had to sit for eleven hours in the melting snow with a bullet lodged in your shoulder, while your partner pressed gauze against it so the red would not give away your position to the enemy snipers? – and they didn’t know what to say to that. Nate laughed. He always does when I show these Americans up. It’s one of his most endearing qualities.

Tell Misha that he has my congratulations for his promotion, and be sure to send me your new address in Moscow as soon as you can! I don’t want to wait to have to write you more of my trials in motherhood. Nate is going to stop his work to take care of little Sasha, as I refuse to do so myself, but I stand by what I said. Tomorrow is my final exam to become an actual lawyer, Nata! I will appear with circles under my eyes and a baby’s worth of weight skinnier, and they’re going to think, ‘look at that Walsh, so dedicated to her job and country!’.

That’s a lie. They’re going to think, ‘look at that Walsh, how irresponsible a mother she is’. But do I care?????????

I must leave you now, Nata love. I grow tired, and I want to hold my son with both arms as I ponder this vault business. I’m not opposed to it, but I do know that Nate hates enclosed spaces. But if that’s what it takes, well, I will do my duty to my family. That’s me. The dutiful wife.

Stop laughing!

All my love, from a new mother, and your (hopefully) dearest friend.

Yours,

Halyna.

**Author's Note:**

> halyna & nate are back! [applause sign flickers; no one claps] i thought i was over this but i love my gals too much... damnit...
> 
> halyna & nate are both hella bi


End file.
